Tubby Troubles (alt)/Story
This page contains the alternate story for Tubby Troubles. Tubby Troubles Stringer, Tubby and Scotty were scouting around some trees in Central Park. Partly for good spots to take album covers, partly because they all really needed to go outside. Tubby was on a not-so-secret quest to find the tree with their initials. “You ever carve your initials into a tree, Scotty?” he asked. “Sure.” “Oooh! What were they?” Stringer chimed in. “S ‘n M, baby,” Scotty replied, smug smile on his face. Tubby let out a light snicker, “Did you?” “...shut up,” Scotty muttered, rising the inner thirteen-year-old in both of them. “I can show you it. It’s in Strawberry Fields. It's funny because it wasn't forever!” Stringer and Tubby didn’t find their tree, but Scotty found his. He assumed it was his, anyway. “Tearing off bark with keys doesn’t leave much creativity to markings,” he’d said. “So who’s this M friend?” asked Stringer. “Her name’s Magnolia,” he muttered, “I doubt she kept my last name. She was this Havanese-breed gal that I was with for six years.” “Yeouch!” exclaimed Tubby while Stringer hissed through his teeth. Scotty shrugged. “She was a strange one. Claimed I had some sort of part in her miscarriages, but that's a story for another day.” Tubby nodded, satisfied. As he headed back to the sidewalk, he got a foot caught in the fencing and fell straight onto his face. Stringer rushed over, panicked and screaming. Scotty followed, not as loud. Tubby was fine, his glasses, however, were not. One of the arms was completely out of place and one lends was cracked. With a sigh and a grumble, he grabbed onto Stringer to stand. “Ar-are you okay?” worried Stringer. “Sure,” Tubby muttered, shaking his hand, “...I literally can’t see if I’m bleeding or not.” “You’re not, laddie,” Scotty muttered, not wanting to get any closer. “Sweet,” he said back, emotionless and still clinging to Stringer for dear life, “We’d best be heading home then.” “Stay safe.” (...) It didn’t take Tubby very long to realize he was too nearsighted for his own good and needed new glasses soon. “I don’t even know where an eye doctor place is,” said Stringer, “And it’s not like I can drive you there!” “You say that like you have a license in the first place,” Tubby grabbed Stringer’s hands to pause his worrying, “I’ll ask Scotty, okay?” “...okay.” Then they heard something slide under the door. Tubby let go of his partner to pick it up. It was an envelope, and when he opened it with a key nearby, he vaguely saw a card inside. He handed it to Stringer to read. “Sorry for your glasses breaking and also all the stupid things I’ve made you do, signed Scotty. There’s also money.” “How much?” “Uhh…” Stringer flipped through the money, “There are seven bills here and they all say twenty.” “Yikes,” exclaimed Tubby. “That’s one hundred forty dollars, babe,” he added more softly. Stringer nodded, his confusion dropping. “Mmm….” Stringer hummed, “...That’s uh. A lot. Is that enough?” “Sure,” Tubby said as he pushed the gift back into its envelope. “Dare I say more than enough.” “You think Scotty can still make rent without this?” “...he’s a talent agent, Stringer, I’m sure he can.” Stringer smiled slightly, “He is a talent agent who’s only clients haven’t done any songwork in months.” Tubby rolled his eyes and smiled back, “Fine. We’ll give him what’s left over.” “And,” Stringer mused, “He’s probably already driven back to his apartment now, and it’s nice to give people'' ga~as.”'' Tubby shook his head and let out a light laugh, elbowing him. “You know, you’re not supposed to give gifts back.” “It’s money and we live in Manhattan, I think there’s an exception.” “You sure are persistent, you.” “We live in a material world. And I’m a material ga~al.” Category:Rewrite Category:Stories